Essential
by Protector of the Gray Fortress
Summary: Holmes comes to the realization that an aspect of his life has moved beyond habitual to essential, and that emotion may be worth the inconvenience. Challenge within.


**Another Fic done at the request of KCS, which might as well go along with a challenge of its own.**

**I challenge anyone who is so inclined, to write a fic where Holmes or Watson are faced for the first time in their acquaintence with the other in some sort of danger or trouble. **

**Eugh! i could have worded that better.**

**Either way its a chance to explore the beginnings of their friendship, and to read into how they regarded one another in their early years, I hope this fic will give you some idea.**

**If you participate your prize will be a relativley long and hopefully welcomed review from me...And i'll persuade KCS to write one for you as well since this is all her suggestion.**

**Enjoy.**

The cab turned another corner and I braced myself trying to avoid impact as it flew over the wet cobblestones and splashed through the murky puddles of the London streets.

How could I have been so stupid!?

it was in vain that I attempted to get my emotions in check, anger, confusion and anxiety coursed through me as readily as my own blood.

I, Sherlock Holmes, fraught with emotion. The idea was laughable, I had made it my habit not to indulge in emotion, to look at everything with a detached and logical eye, and to keep myself distanced from everything and everyone that would cause emotional attachments.

And oh how I wish I had stuck to that rule, not so much to preserve the clear precise reasoning that was the heart of my trade…but because I had been so long without emotional attachments…that I had forgotten how very painful they could be.

Two years…it had only been two years…that was all the time it took for me to break my one rule and to create such a relationship. One that was a ill-fated from the beginning as a child with a stray dog. It was not supposed to be this way, I was not meant to become attached to anything or anyone.

Another, sharper turn and caught off guard I rammed into the side of the cab, the impact numbing my left shoulder.

But it was not for myself that I was concerned. Rather the person that I clutched tightly in my arms. The one I had known for a little under two years…the one that was the cause of this blasted, painful emotion.

He groaned at the impact and as my arms tightened around him, his hand clutched at my jacket and he drew in a series of short, rasping breaths.

The cab continued and I loosened my hold somewhat.

"Steady old fellow. I have you."

His face was paler, with tight lines around his mouth indicating the pain he was in.

I had been foolish to ask him along what with his shoddy leg, but like my violin and pipe he had become a habit, something that I enjoyed having around, that helped me to think and act to the best of my abilities.

_No._ said a rather persistent voice in my head. _He's more than a habit…he means more…because any of those objects you would happily toss out in a second if it meant concluding the case. You've sacrificed your own health and safety numerous times to solve the puzzles that you so adore. But now you've found the one thing on the earth that you would be unwilling to sacrifice…and the thought of losing him makes you sick, in both body and soul._

I tried to block the accusatory tones, to concentrate my mind, the mind I had so carefully crafted and trained, on something else, anything else.

But for once my mind would not obey, there was no running, no distancing myself this time, I was firmly anchored in reality by the weight of the man in my arms.

_And this time it seems you don't have the luxury of control, because he is one of the few factors that you cannot control or predict, because he did not come for the mystery like you did, he came for you._

My attention is drawn by my companion's sudden, urgent shifting, and I look down at once in concern.

The one factor that I cannot control…if he had not been so foolish and impulsive then we would not be in this mess.

Our places would be reversed as they should be. I did not want him to bear any burdens for me, to take any fall that should have been mine.

But I was quickly learning that that is the privilege of a friend, and the mere fact that he is willing to spare me my own trials and suffer himself is one that is wonderful and terrible at the same time. Wonderful, that anyone could have such regard for me, terrible because in sparing me pain he might very well have left me with a harder pain to bear, one that is not so easily remedied.

"Easy Doctor, It's alright."

His brow is furrowed in effort, and it is not difficult to see that he has slipped into the role of army surgeon, even in his semi-conscious state. It is a role that he was meant to fill, born with the traits needed to fill it, quick thinking, stolid reassurance, presence of mind, cool under fire, compassion…

A role that makes him the perfect helpmate.

"Easy Watson, lie still."

I try to reassure him as he struggles to move, his breath coming quicker and harsher as he rises toward consciousness, his teeth set against the discomfort.

His hands seek out the wound…a gunshot to his lower, left side and try to press down on it, but my hand is already there.

"Bleeding," he manages in a weak, breathless voice. "Stop the bleeding."

I feel very much as though I would like to cry and laugh at the same time. He will never ever cease his role of healer.

"It's alright Doctor," I say, gently urging him to lie back, even as he trembles with effort and the pain and shock of the wound.

He turns toward the sound of my voice, aware but still not fully conscious.

"The others" he moans "did they get the others?"

I frown, there was no one else.

"What others Doctor?"

He lets out his breath in a sound akin to a weary sob. "Murray…"

The name he calls for stops me cold, for it is a name I have heard many times.

Indeed when Watson did speak of the war there would inevitably be a reference to his orderly, the man who saved his life on the field.

Unaware of his circumstances, his mind has fallen back on the most similar memories that it ca conjure…other memories that include pain and uncertainty.

And a comrade's arm around his shoulders.

And quite suddenly I do not want to be mistaken for Murray, I do not want him to suffer a second time through a war that is dead and gone.

He has spared me a great deal of pain tonight, the least I can do is spare him this.

"Watson, it's alright, open your eyes."

He frowns, puzzled, on the verge of consciousness.

Then the cab jerks suddenly and we are sent crashing against the wall yet again.

The Doctor seizes in my grip and lets out a shout of pain, I readjust my grip.

"I'm sorry Watson…I'm sorry, I'm here, hold on we're almost there. Do you hear Watson…you will be alright…I have you."

One of his hands clutches still at my jacket, and the other is placed firmly over the hand I use to hold the makeshift bandage over his wound.

His eyes flicker open, the familiar kind eyes though they are dull and glazed with the ordeal he is going through, and for the first time I realize that they are hazel. It was not something I had noticed before as the color of a man's eyes are hardly consequential.

But I cannot help but think that kind hazel eyes fit my friend perfectly, for he is a man of many talents and of hidden depths, changing in such a way that I shall never fully get his limits.

He is mostly conscious now, and though his face is white and strained with pain and weariness he manages to smile at me, and I cannot help but think, that as inconvenient as emotions are…there are some that I would rather not do without, and if I had to take them all to have those few…then so be it.

"I know Holmes." He says closing his eyes again, "I know you do."


End file.
